“The Devastators from the east gate, captain,” said Sergeant Matiel, nodding in the direction of the retreating Marines, as the last of the ork gang was dispatched at the blade of Gabriel’s chainsword.
“Yes, sergeant. So it seems. The explosion must have been the Vindicator,” answered Gabriel as he started to run towards the retreating line, keen to get back into the action and to rally his Marines.
The vox channel hissed with static. “Captain, the Litany of Fury reports that its bombardment arrays are now ready for firing.” It was Corallis, back at the cathedral. “Reports from the wall defences suggest that the orks have breached the city limits, captain. If we are going to use the bombardment cannons, we have to use them now.”
Gabriel shivered as he heard the words, and he tried to ignore them. He was still running when he burst through the line of Devastator Marines and plunged into the wave of orks that hounded them. His chainsword was already spluttering with ichor, but he was roaring with energy himself. “For the Great Father and the Emperor!” he yelled, and the Devastators stopped retreating. They planted their feet and braced against the onslaught of ork bodies, powerfists humming thirstily, multi-meltas whining with heat, and heavy bolters rattling off shells.
The Space Marines had kicked their jump packs into life and were hovering above the Devastators, adding their rain of bolter shells to the fury of heavy weapons blasting out from their battle-brothers on the ground.
“Captain,” crackled an inconstant signal into the vox in his amour. There are too many of them. They are spilling around the edges of our position, flanking us on both sides and penetrating further into the city. We cannot hold them here,” reported Matiel from his vantage point above the skyline.
“Understood,” said Gabriel with frustration, as he dragged the teeth of his chainsword across the neck of one ork and jammed his bolt pistol into the mouth of another. “Sergeant Matiel, take your assault squad back into the cathedral precincts. And Brother Furio,” he said, nodding a greeting to the sergeant of the Devastator squad who was fighting at his shoulder. “We must pull back towards the cathedral—we can make our stand there. It is senseless to spend our lives so cheaply in these streets.”
Switching the vox-channel, Gabriel reluctantly made the call to Corallis. “Sergeant. Recall the Marines from the wall and tell that idiot Brom to get his men into the cathedral precinct. Tell the Litany of Fury to give us five minutes.”
STANDING AT THE top of the steps in front of the cathedral, Gabriel and Isador watched the bombardment shells sear through the sky like falling stars. They thudded into the plain outside the city and exploded into sheets of white light. Mushrooms of dust and dirt billowed up from the impacts, and ripples of concussion throbbed across the skyline of the city.
A second flurry of meteoric strikes flashed down into the outskirts of Magna Bonum, just inside the ruins of the once defiant city wall. The immense explosions pounded the rockcrete and tore buildings apart, sending waves of fire rushing through the streets. Huge fountains of rubble and broken masonry were thrown high into the air, only to rain down again like cannonballs into those structures that had survived the initial blasts.
The edges of the city and the plains of Bonum beyond were submerged under a blanket of brilliant white as the superheated charges from the bombardment shells fried the air itself. The orks at the gates and those that had just broken through into the city were instantly incinerated, leaving nothing but faint thermal shadows scorched into the crumbling rockcrete.
“Did everyone make it back?” asked Isador, looking past Gabriel and addressing the question to Sergeant Corallis.
“Nearly everyone,” answered the sergeant without turning. He couldn’t take his eyes from the awesome scene before him. “All functional Marines are within the limits of the cathedral compound. Some squads of Tartarans were cut off in their wall emplacements.”
Gabriel was just staring at the ruined remains of the city. The bombardment had prevented the loss of Magna Bonum, but it had levelled most of the city in the process. He was speechless as he struggled to reconcile himself with the wisdom of his decision.
“It had to be done,” said Corallis, turning at last and bowing slightly to his captain. The walls were breached and the orks were simply too numerous for us. The city was lost, captain.”
“And now it is won?” muttered Gabriel in self-recrimination.
Without saying a word, Isador walked slowly down the steps into the crowded plaza. The rattle of gunfire had started again, and the Librarian paused to look out into the streets nearby. Some of the orks had clearly penetrated more deeply into the city than the blast radius. He signalled to Colonel Brom, who was standing at the bottom of the steps with a group of subordinates, summoning him.
“Yes, Brother-Librarian Akios?” said Brom without ceremony as he walked over to Isador. “I think that the Tartarans could have let the orks destroy Magna Bonum themselves, without the help of the Blood Ravens,” he added, as though unable to keep his rage bottled up.
“Quite possibly,” replied Isador. “But the captain’s purpose was to eradicate the orks, not to preserve your precious city, colonel. He has done Tartarus a service, even if you are too short-sighted to notice it.”
Brom smarted at the personal slight. “Is this the same service he did for Cyrene?”
Isador’s hand slapped across the colonel’s face in a blur, knocking the man from his feet. “You will not speak that way, colonel. Captain Angelos is an honourable man and a fine strategist. He does not take his responsibilities lightly” Isador paused for a moment, conscious that he should not react too much to this provocation. “Besides, colonel,” he continued, “it seems that the Tartarans did quite a fine job of destroying their own forces, even before the bombardment.”
Climbing back to his feet and wiping the blood away from his lip, Brom replied. “I am sure that the Blood Ravens know better than most not to listen to rumours, Librarian Akios.”
“Colonel Brom,” said Isador, ignoring the last slight, “I expect that the Tartarans will want the honour of cleansing the remaining streets.”
Brom brushed the dust from his tunic and turned back to his subordinates. “Sergeant Katrn, take your Armoured Fists squadron and sweep the ruins in the south of the city. Trooper Ckrius—you are now a squadron sergeant—form your own squad from whatever men you like and sweep the east.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“KNOCK IT OFF, all of you’z! We’ze movin’ out!” bellowed Berzek, clattering the gretchin round their heads with a sweep of his huge arm. The grots snivelled and whined, flicking recriminating glances up at their massive keeper.
“We’ze not gonna stay an’ fight?” asked one of them, scowling.
Berzek smashed the rotten little creature across its face with the mechanical claw that was bolted onto his forearm. The gretchin stumbled backwards and smacked into a wall, before it slumped to the ground whimpering.
“Ize da biggest ork ’ere, which meanz I’ze da leada an’ you’z a lousy bunch a gitz. We been waitin’ an waitin’ a fight deze marine-boyz, an’ we’ze gonna stomp dem but good. To do dat, we need da strength of all da boyz, not a small weak mob ov runtz like you’z boyz.” As he splattered his words, Berzek reached out and gripped his power claw over the face of the fallen gretchin, lifting it up by its head and shaking it around for the others to see.
“We’ze orks! An’ we’ze made for fightin’. Fightin” and winnin! So uze you’z skulls fa sumtin.” With that, Berzek clenched his fist and crushed the gretchin’s head into a dripping, bloody pulp.
“Weze gonna go get Big Boss Orkamungus. He got sumtin’ special planned for deze humies,” explained Berzek with a cackle of phlegm building up in his throat. He spat it into the street, where it splattered over the dusty, red helmet of a fallen Marine.
* * * * *
THE GREAT VAULTED space in the cathedral was strung with ropes, from which swung artificial floors. The cathedral was one of the on
ly large structures left undamaged by the bombardment, and it had been rapidly transformed into a medicae-station for the Imperial Guard and civilians of Magna Bonum. Each of the four temporary floors was already strewn with injured bodies, and servitors rushed between the makeshift beds administering pain-killers. There was little else they could do for the wounded until fresh supplies arrived.
“The remaining greenskins seem to be fleeing the city, captain,” said Colonel Brom. “I sent out two squads and neither of them has reported any serious resistance. Sergeant Ckrius has indicated that a number of ork groups actually refused to engage with his troops. They fled when he approached. I assume that they have had enough of fighting for today'
“You should never assume anything about the orks, colonel,” countered Gabriel, looking up from a large map that was spread over the altar of the cathedral. “And you should certainly not think that they will ever have had enough of fighting. They live to fight, colonel. If they are fleeing, you may rest assured that it is not because your squad of Guardsmen scared them away. It is more likely because they have more important battles to fight later.”
“Colonel,” interjected Isador from the side of the altar, looking from Gabriel to Brom as though trying to build a bridge. “Perhaps you can help us with this map? Orbital imaging from the Litany of Fury suggests that there is an even larger ork force massing in this area here,” said the Librarian pointing to a spot about fifty kilometres away from Magna Bonum. “Can you tell us anything about that site, colonel?”
Colonel Brom hesitated for a moment, waiting for Gabriel to look up from the map again, but the captain didn’t move. So Brom approached the altar with a nod to Isador, and inspected the map.
“That is the river basin that feeds the reservoirs for the city of Lloovre Marr,” said Brom, tracing his gloved finger along the valley floor towards the capital city. “If they cut off the water, the city will not be able to stand against them for long. Our problem, however, is that the valley is the easiest approach to the city.” Brom traced his finger back across the site of the ork encampment towards Magna Bonum. “And it is the only route along which we can transport heavy weaponry. The valley walls are sheer, and the plains on either side are thickly forested. We will not be able to reinforce the regiment in Lloovre Marr without passing the ork forces in the valley'
“If you are right, colonel, then this is an unusually well planned assault by the greenskins. Their attack on Magna Bonum served merely to pull our forces into this city, while their real target was the capital. And they have cut us off from that quite effectively,” said Gabriel, looking up at last.
“It would confirm reports that the main warboss was not actually part of the assault on Magna Bonum,” offered Corallis. The boss would stay with the bulk of his force, would he not?”
“You’re right, sergeant. Dispatch a scout squad up into the forest on the rim of the valley, and let’s see what these orks are planning. In the meantime, the Blood Ravens will move out in force and try to catch the ork army before it reaches the city. Colonel Brom, we may yet have need for your Tartarans.”
“EVERYTIN’ IZ READY, boss!” spurted Berzek as he threw himself facedown into the swampy ground with his arms spread out wide in supplication.
“Dem humies is in fa a good stompin’!' replied Orkamungus, chuckling with colic. “Dis is gonna be da best fight o’ dere miserable lives!” The warboss stepped forward and trod affectionately on the back on Berzek’s head, squashing his face further into the sodden ground until he started to thrash with suffocation. But a slippery voice oozed into Orkamungus’ ear and disturbed his show of appreciation.
“Just make sure that it is the last fight of their lives,” hissed Sindri, as he walked out from the shadows of the forest.
Orkamungus turned in surprise, and pulled himself up to his full height when he saw Sindri and Bale standing before him. The Chaos Marines were imposing figures, resplendent in their shimmering power armour, but they were dwarfed by the immense physical presence of the ork warboss, who towered over them.
“I don’t takes ordaz from you, humie,” bellowed Orkamungus, showering the Chaos sorcerer with globules of spittle and slimy ichor.
“We’ve kept our side of the bargain, ork,” said Bale, stepping forward past his sorcerer and spitting the words back at the huge creature. Bale was not about to be cowed by this brainless beast. “You wanted a new planet on which to wage war, and we have given it to you.”
Sindri eased back into the conversation. “You wanted to face the Imperium’s finest warriors, remember? You wanted to face the Space Marines, Orkamungus. And they are here. We have given you the Blood Ravens.”
“We have even provided you with weapons to use against them,” rumbled Bale, bluntly insinuating that the ork force would have crumbled without the aid of the Alpha Legion.
Orkamungus howled at the slight and raised his immense hand, ready to level a blow against the Chaos Lord. “We’ze don’t need yor fancy weaponz!” As he did so, a clatter from the shadows of the trees revealed a squad of Alpha Legionaries with their boltguns trained on the huge warboss. Bale himself had moved faster than everyone, having already stepped inside the range of the ork’s strike with his manreaper scythe poised.
“All we ask in return,” said Sindri, filling the awkward moment with velvety tones, “is that you keep your end of the bargain. We simply want you to keep the Imperials distracted from our operations here. I’m sure that you’ll enjoy that.”
“You’ze kept your word, humie. Dat’s da truth. But dat don’t mean you’ze can orda da orks around,” said Orkamungus, eying Bale warily whilst talking to Sindri.
“My apologies. We’ve delivered the last of the weaponry,” continued Sindri, indicating the pile of crates on the edge of the tree-line. A group of orks were already prising open the containers and prodding about at the devices inside. I’m sure that you’ll make sure they find their way into capable hands.” As he spoke, one of the orks yelped in pain as a plume of flame jetted out of one of the weapons it was holding, bathing his own head in fire.
“Now, if you will excuse us, we will take our leave. I… respectfully request that you keep the Blood Ravens busy for as long as you can,” said Sindri, bowing slightly in mock grandeur.
“Bah! We’ze keep dem more dan buzy. We’ze keep dem dead!” spat Orkamungus, stomping his foot down into the wet ground with a tremendous splash, missing Berzek’s still-gasping head by fractions.
DISAPPEARING INTO THE shadows of the forest, the Alpha Legion squad moved rapidly towards their extraction point. The legionaries were fanned out around Sindri and Bale, defining a perimeter that bristled with barrels and blades. They were alert and focussed, just like their delusional brothers in the Adeptus Astartes, but they were also liberated from the pathetic constraints of the Imperial creed. The orks may have been their allies, but they knew better than to underestimate the green-skins’ hatred towards humans. All humans. The legionaries scanned the forest for signs of an ambush.
“The thought of kowtowing to these filthy creatures disgusts me,” said Bale, his voice rich with anger. “I hope you know what you’re doing, sorcerer. Otherwise, I will throw you to them as a personal gift.” The Chaos lord was storming through the foliage, lost in the intensity of his own repulsion.
“The orks are a tool, my lord, nothing more,” said Sindri smoothly, keeping pace with Bale. And quite an effective one, I might add.”
“Perhaps,” coughed Bale, stopping abruptly and turning suddenly to grasp Sindri by the neck. “But I dislike providing such unpredictable aliens with our own weaponry.”
“Lord Bale,” managed Sindri between gulps of air. “Orks are not unpredictable. Quite the contrary.” The grip around his neck loosened and he dropped to the ground. Bale snorted roughly and started back towards the waiting drop-ship. Sindri rushed after him, abject, humiliated and fuming inside. “You can rely on them to turn against you. But they will honour their agreement for as long as w
e can provide them with enemies to satisfy their lust for battle.”
“There are other ways to make people do as you please,” answered Bale with off-handed ferocity. “Ways more appropriate to warriors of the Alpha Legion. If we intimidated them with our strength, then they would take pause before betraying us.”
“But my lord, you cannot intimidate something that knows nothing of fear.”
“I can teach them to fear the Alpha Legion, sorcerer,” countered Bale with calm certainty. “lust as I have taught hundreds of worlds to tremble at our name.”
“My lord, trouble yourself no longer with these orks. They will serve their purpose. Already the pathetic Imperials will be heading for Lloovre Marr, in pursuit of the mob. We will have what we came for and be gone before the orks finish off the Imperials and turn on us.”
“The Blood Ravens are not fools, Sindri. The Alpha Legion have had dealings with them before. You risk underestimating our allies and our enemies, sorcerer, and that is not the kind of wisdom I need from you,” said Bale as he climbed up into the hatch of the drop-ship.
BERZEK SPAT A fountain of mud and blood out of his gaping mouth as he lay imprinted into the fecund earth. He looked up at the huge form of his warboss, and watched him foaming at the mouth. The immense ork was on the verge of catatonia, and Berzek didn’t know whether to speak or to attempt to slither away. If he said the wrong thing, he would be stomped. If he said nothing, he could be stomped anyway. Orkamungus was one massively stompy ork.
“Why’ze we talkin” wit dem humies, boss? Why’ze we no fight wit dem good?” said Berzek from amidst a mouthful of swamp. His decision was made.
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